"Poor Frank," she murmured. "Poor fellow, so weak and amiable. And yet with all your faults—"
Chris paused, and a little cry escaped her lips. Frank Littimer, looking very wild and haggard, stood before her.
"I beg your pardon," he began. "I came to see you because—"
The words died away. He staggered back, pale as the foam beating on the rocks below, his hand clutching at his left side as if there was some mortal pain there.
"Chris," he murmured. "Chris, Chris, Chris! And they told me—"
He could say no more, he could only stand there trembling from head to foot, fearful lest his mocking senses were making sport of him. Surely, it was some beautiful vision he had come upon. With one unsteady hand he touched the girl's sleeve; he pressed her warm red cheeks with his fingers, and with that touch his manhood came back to him.
"Darling," he whispered, eagerly. "Dearest, what does it mean?"
Chris stood there, smiling rosily. She had not meant to betray herself; fate had done that for her, and she was not sorry. It was a cruel trick they had played upon Frank, but it had been necessary. Chris held out her hand with a loving little gesture.
"Are you not going to kiss me, dear?" she asked, sweetly.
Frank Littimer needed no further invitation. It was quiet and secluded there, and nobody could possibly see them. With a little sigh Chris felt her lover's arms about her and his kisses warm on her lips. The clever, brilliant girl had disappeared; a pretty, timid creature stood in her place for the time. For the moment Frank Littimer could do no more than gaze into her eyes with rapture and amazement. There was plenty of time for explanations.